Supplicants
by don't eat no biscuit
Summary: Eric has chosen Freyda, but she has no strength to be bitter. What's more, Pam, Freyda and Bill are in her backyard, and they all seem to need something from her. Not from the telepath, but from Sookie. Meanwhile, Bubba... well, what to say about Bubba?
1. Supplicants

Sookie thought that she would be angry when Eric left. She thought that she wouldn't ever want to see him again, and that she would be viciously angry with the vampires in her life for a few days. She felt that her life was bound to vampire politicking in a way that wasn't fair to a human like her. It was unfair that her happiness be linked to a world she couldn't control.

But she was astonished to find that all her bitterness had coalesced into what felt like a heavy stone in the pit of her stomach, a cold thing that left her weary and physically spent, and lonely.

But the vampire world would not leave her alone. Pam was in her backyard three nights after the ceremony, and it didn't seem that she was making a beeline for the door, but that she was floundering outside. And Pam was not known for floundering.

Sookie stepped outside onto the porch. Pam looked up from the birdbath she was inspecting, it seemed, to gauge Sookie's mood. "...How do you do?" Sookie asked, not without humor.

"I'm fine," Pam said, approaching. She was moving stiffly, as though Sookie had ingested a landmine that would explode at the slightest nudge. She extended a plastic Kroger bag to Sookie, who took it, confusion etching her brow.

In the bag was a pint of Ben and Jerry's Chunky Monkey and what looked like a sympathy card.

Sookie, feeling a hysterical bout of laughter rising in her chest, looked up at Pam. "I think that human women typically resort to these, or give each other these, in such circumstances," Pam explained helpfully. "I would have us remain... friends... despite Eric's..." she trailed off, with a distinct note of disapproval coloring her speech.

The hysterical bout of laughter ripped out of Sookie's throat. The vampire child of her ex-vampire-husband had come bearing Ben and Jerry's. Perhaps later they would watch The Notebook and paint each other's toenails. They would borrow each other's clothes and gossip about—what? Southern vampire royalty?

What's more, Pam had combined the sympathetic caretaking of a best girlfriend— ice cream—with the actions of a business associate whose colleague was dying of cancer—a greeting card. Sookie hooted with laughter.

And she had been wary of approaching the door, wandering the backyard as though it were a typical course of action—it seemed that Sookie Stackhouse had almost made Pam nervous. It was ludicrous—the whole idea of Pam being here was ludicrous.

If Pam Ravenscroft could look bemused, she was doing so now.

"Thank you, Pam." Sookie said when she had calmed down a few seconds later. "They do. Human women, that is," she confirmed.

Pam nodded. "If I don't see you so often," she regained her grasp of the conversation, "I wish you well, Sookie. You're very tolerable, for a human."

Laughter bit at Sookie's throat again, despite the realization that Pam was, as ever, tied to Eric. "As are you, Pam," she said, in a facetiously stilted voice. Pam nodded. And then she was gone, slinking off into the night. The strangeness of the conversation overcame Sookie again, and she snorted. But she felt a nagging sadness to see Pam go.

But the next night, Freyda had come a-calling. Sookie had heard something in the woods and, extending her special sense, found nothing but the buzzing emptiness that signified the presence of a vampire. She was amazed and more than a little anxious to find Freyda approaching the porch. But she couldn't come inside, and moreover, there was no longer any reason for Freyda to harm her. The wards remained silent.

Sookie was inclined to ignore her and crawl into bed until daylight.

But there she was, wrenching the door open with a grim resolve, cautiously.

"I don't expect to come in," Freyda stated as a preamble. Her hands were raised, palms up, ever so slightly. The gesture was strangely suppliant for a vampire queen of Oklahoma. On a human, that posture implied vulnerability—something alien to Sookie's concept of Freyda.

"Good," Sookie said flatly. There was a smooth, cold stone in her stomach.

"I would have you as an ally," Freyda started again, more blunt than was seemly. "Not for your services. I would rather you not harbor any ill will towards us."

Sookie wondered vaguely who "us" was. She was taken aback by this speech—it seemed very odd that Freyda should care one whit for what Sookie felt about her. Regardless, a feeble indignation stirred behind her breastbone. "I don't harbor any such—"

"You are very dear to him," Freyda interjected. Her flat, icy eyes regarded Sookie with—what? Pity? "I am not so dear, of course. It matters little now. But I would have him happy, and that means your happiness, for now. It's a pity that I should require him."

Not so much a pity that she couldn't leave him alone. A tiny, bitter voice in Sookie's mind was furious.

"He chose you," Sookie heard her own bland pronouncement. "He's going to be happy with your life—the... lifestyle you offered him." The stone in her stomach was just so heavy.

Freyda nodded once.

"I don't have anything against you and yours. I'm too tired of the political—the vampire thing," Sookie finished lamely.

Another swift nod. Then, regarding Sookie as though returning from a reverie, Freyda produced an envelope from some unseen place and proffered it to Sookie. She took it, uncomprehending. And then Freyda was disappearing, into the trees, gone. She opened it at the kitchen table to find a check of considerable denomination. She blinked at it.

What was this? Was this from Freyda or from Eric himself? This could be constituted as a bribe to placate her, a severance package... alimony? Or—the stone in her stomach grew heavier—a payment. Sookie gave a weak shudder. She should be angry—she should be furious at Freyda, at Eric, for whatever this was. But instead, she simply ripped the check into four even pieces and stared at it. She should be affronted at whatever statement was being made here. But she was exhausted, and the stone in her stomach was very heavy, and so she climbed into bed and slept the sleep of the righteous.

It seemed like Sookie had but blinked, and she heard another snap, crackle and pop from outside her window. Something rustled through her woods yet again. Her eyes snapped open, bleary and confused. She stumbled downstairs, still struggling to restart the firing of her synapses.

It was almost dawn now, but the visitor was definitely a vampire, and probably that meant Eric, Sookie realized. She opened the door ready to castigate whichever vampire darkened her doorstep. The stone had grown intolerable.

She opened the door to Bill Compton. He looked pained. And vulnerable and perhaps not in charge of his senses, Sookie thought. It was another human expression on a vampire to which human expressions did not belong. She pondered rescinding his invitation, for safety's sake.

"I miss you so much," he began, in a strange, plaintive, masculine whine.

"Why are you doing this?" Sookie exhaled. In the clear light of day—no, in the... darkness of night, Sookie supposed—Bill knew how she felt and understood what stood between them, and he had only a dark little hope that she would return to him, someday. But this Bill was speaking out of fatigue, and she couldn't imagine what could fatigue Vampire Bill now. No, she could imagine it, thinking of Mississippi. She shuddered.

"I need you, Sookie," Bill said in the same tone. And Sookie suddenly recognized his expression, from when she had been covered in Long Shadow's blood years ago. His eyes were like caves again, deep dark holes haunted by ghosts, and no light could ever penetrate them, and they were endless. It had scared her before, to see this face, but there was no bloodlust in his countenance now. Only weariness, the weariness of lovelornness and unfathomable age.

"You do not," Sookie replied, but the words were as hollow as a blown egg.

"I need you," Bill insisted. "I'm so hungry, Sookie." His fervor made his speech candid and blunt.

Sookie knew on some level that she should be angry, that she should protect herself from him. He had attacked her and cheated and lied and schemed to ensnare her for his Queen. But she had killed Lorena Ball, and Sophie-Anne had suffered and died the final death, and here was Bill, on her porch, waiting for sunrise. Not waiting for sunrise, Sookie shivered. Waiting in spite of sunrise.

She looked at his face again. He was so lonely, and at that moment he was heartrendingly familiar.

"Oh, honey," she said, giving up. "Honey." She pulled him close to her. His head sagged, and his forehead rested in the crook of her neck. She stroked the back of his head. She hadn't expected him to act like this. She had an urge to hold him and comfort him and let him drink and love him until he could be happy again. But she didn't move, and she petted the back of his neck, and murmured to him. "Bill, honey."

After a moment, she felt him raise his head and press his lips gently, tentatively, to her collarbone. She didn't object, but he inhaled once, lifted his head, and stepped away. The ghosts had left his eyes.

"I'm sorry," he said as though it could not have been helped.

"It's almost dawn," Sookie said quietly, although she knew full well that vampire magic was already urging him to retreat and hide in some dark hole.

"I love you," Bill responded as though she hadn't spoken. Sookie exhaled, feeling that she was about to make some great concession that she could not afford to make.

"I forgive you, Bill, you know I do," she said, peering down at her feet. "But I think anything we do now might be... I'm in a special situation, now." What she meant to say was that she was rejected and abandoned and weaker for it, and not in a position of emotional clarity. Not in her right mind.

"I would gladly suffer whatever situation you think you're in, Sookie," Bill whispered, looking away from her to glance at the horizon. "I need you. Only you."

Sookie's stomach lurched. The rock was overturning. Oh, no.

"I will start all over again, if that is what you require, in order to love me again. Or trust me," he finished, as though the last words pained him.

Oh, no.

"Okay." Sookie said in a small voice.

They said nothing for a few seconds. It became apparent that Bill Compton had not expected this, exactly, but had simply been driven here by that tiny dark hope. He took her hand and raised it to his mouth, brushing her knuckles with his cold lips.

"Have a good morning, Miss Stackhouse," he said, and Sookie heard some sort of fire kindling in his voice.

"Go home," Sookie advised with a hint of humor, but Bill was already gone, bounding towards his house, across the cemetery, gone.

And Sookie crawled back into her bed, and as the first rays of sunshine streaked the sky, she slept the sleep of the dead.


	2. Invitation

A/N: Holy God, I didn't realize the overwhelming pro-Viking sentiment here until I looked at the other fics, haha. I don't want to be mean to Eric, I'm just a Bill girl. Also, I wrote the first chapter as a oneshot, but you guys seemed to like it, so I thought I would try to merge another idea I've had floating around into this fic. I hope you like it. :)

As though unwilling to press his luck, Bill did not visit Sookie that next night, or the next. She had come back from Merlotte's at almost 1:00, and she wanted nothing more than to shower and immediately hibernate. _I think this is what it feels like to be old,_ Sookie thought as the scalding water rained down on her. She felt her mental shields clatter down around her. It was an impalpable thing, and yet it felt as tangible to her as a set of armor in a museum, loudly, messily, collapsing on itself.

And she relaxed, she reveled momentarily in the mental silence. Until she realized that the silence was punctuated by a different silence, a silence sitting on her front porch.

Well, whoever it was could wait until she was clean, Sookie thought obstinately. The wards were silent and it was an indecent hour, for a human, at least. But after a moment, feeling that she was being rude and mean-spirited and silly, she shut off the water and stepped out. She dressed as quickly as was comfortable and, setting her shoulders, marched towards the porch.

"Bubba!" she exclaimed.

He sat cross-legged, leaning against the pillar. To Sookie, his position implied restlessness, and it was such a fidgety, awkward posture that the mental image of The Man from Memphis in a schoolroom- legs locked together, hands clasped, twiddling his thumbs—came unbidden. He stood to face her, and his face glowed with vampirism and happiness.

"Hello, Miss Sookie," Bubba beamed.

"What are you doing here? It's so good to see you," Sookie said, delighted.

"Well, Miss Sookie, I had to come here to tell you somethin' special," Bubba started, and he was suddenly overcome with the air of someone who wishes to be congratulated, but too bashful to be direct. And very pleased, she decided.

"I'm gettin' married," Bubba preened.

"Oh, my God," Sookie said after the slightest moment. Bubba nodded, grinning proudly as though she had reacted appropriately.

She remembered herself. "Bubba, that's so... That's amazing," she chose her words. "Who is the lucky lady?"

"Winifred," Bubba helpfully provided.

Sookie stared at him again. She hadn't ever met a Winifred, she thought, had she? Then again, Bubba had wandered the South for years on end. Sookie sure hadn't been on a road trip with Bubba since 1977. He would have met countless people in his travels.

Still, she figured it was okay to ask. "Who—I mean, when did you two meet?" She tried to keep the note of blank confusion and amazement out of her voice, afraid to hear the answer.

"Two weeks ago," Bubba proclaimed happily.

It was as Sookie had feared.

"Oh."

Bubba gazed at her expectantly.

"Congratulations!" Sookie managed. She hugged Bubba, who wriggled jokingly out of her embrace.

"I'm gonna be a married man, Miss Sookie," he said, the very picture of undead jocularity. As if remembering that this was not his original task, he reached inside his jacket and produced a small white envelope. It was neatly embellished, very stately—it was clear that a woman had selected this document, a wedding invitation.

"Mister Bill's gonna be my best man," Bubba said, and the shining happiness on his face was renewed.

"Oh, wow," Sookie said. So at least Bill knew of this, she thought. "Well, thank you for the invitation, Bubba. I'll be there."

"Goodbye then, Miss Sookie," Bubba said happily. Clearly, Sookie's bewilderment had not become apparent to him. "I'll see you there!" And then he had disappeared. Sookie stared after him, wondering where he was off to next, hand-delivering wedding invitations.

She dialed Bill's number on the kitchen phone and twirled the cord around her hand absently. He answered before the end of the first ring. "Hello."

"Did Bubba just visit you?" she asked, omitting the pleasantries.

"Yes," Bill said. "He's going to have a very human wedding, I think."

It occurred to Sookie that she had not inquired as to the nature of the being that was Winifred. "Is she human?" she asked.

"She's a Were. I met her in Birmingham, a couple of months ago."

"A Were?"

"Werecat," Bill clarified helpfully.

That made entirely too much sense. Sookie shivered involuntarily. "Why not a... I mean, Eric and I had the—" She was remembering the knife wrapped in black velvet, presented to him in a ceremony that she hadn't been informed that she would take part in. That was her concept of a vampire wedding.

"I think that maybe Bubba would be uncomfortable with... typical vampire rituals," Bill cut her off. "I think he probably wanted something simple—a human thing."

She thought for a moment. Knowing Bubba, "uncomfortable" might be an understatement. Was "uncomfortable" what happened when some unlucky person called him by his human name? Something else occurred to her.

"He's with a Were?" she said, not quite a question. "Isn't that a little unorthodox?" She knew full well that it was more than unorthodox.

"Yes," Bill conceded. "But Bubba is not very orthodox," he said, and she could hear the smile in his voice.

Sookie was smiling too, now. "That's cute." The smile faded. "They met two weeks ago?"

"I introduced them," he said.

That stunned her. "Wow." She paused. "This is awfully fast, then... Oh, Bill, she's not...?"

"Addled?" Bill provided a word from a different time. "No. Well, she's not addled in the way that he's addled. She's a little odd. But... she doesn't recognize him."

"She doesn't recognize him." Sookie echoed, not understanding. "Oh. She doesn't... recognize him? As the King?"

"Yes," Bill said.

She laughed, disbelieving. "How is that possible? How does that work?" She opened the invitation. "The pleasure of your company is requested at the marriage uniting Winifred and Bubba. Saturday, the twenty-third of June, two thousand twelve, at midnight," she read aloud. "No last names, I see."

"Like Cher," said Bill.

"Or Satan," Sookie said. She started to laugh in earnest now. She heard a rumbling over the phone that she recognized as Bill's quiet laugh. It was absurd. Winifred was an absurd name, and Bubba was the undead body of the King of Rock and Roll, and he liked to drink the blood of cats, so he was going to marry one, and it was absurd. But despite her happy puzzlement, it made sense. And she smiled.

"Mister Best Man," Sookie said after a moment. The rock in her stomach had fizzled and shrunk with her laughter, and she was left with only gladness.

"Would you like to attend it with me?" Bill asked.

"Sure," Sookie said, slightly less glad.

He must have been pleased with that answer, because after a moment he continued, "Would you like me to come over?"

"No." Sookie said flatly. Then, regretting her shortness, she softened it with, "I'm about to fall asleep with the phone in my hand, Bill."

"Of course," Bill said obligingly. "Good night, sweetheart."

"Good night," Sookie responded. It seemed like she spent her whole life tired, but she supposed that that was what one did when one associated with vampires. She hung up the phone and for the first time in a long time, she was simply excited. A normal wedding—well, not normal, but neither party was unaware that they were getting married, and Bubba was so happy, and he had a companion now. Sookie didn't think he had had a real companion before.

She smiled herself to sleep.


	3. Wedding

Sookie stood in the mirror, pulling at the hip of her dress, inspecting her appearance. She was in the restroom of a country club in Birmingham, Alabama, attending the technically-illegal wedding of a werecat and the vampire remnants of Elvis Presley.

There was no more reasonable way to phrase it.

She had arranged her thick blonde hair into a tidy, intricate affair, and a single stray, curly tendril rested ever so lightly on her shoulder. She misliked the rather tight fit of her evening ensemble, but upon a thorough scouring of her closet she had decided that the other options would not do. She recatalogued the contents of her little purse- keys, wallet, phone, tampons.

As Bubba's best man, Bill Compton was somewhere behind the scenes of this operation. They had driven to Birmingham together last night, and they had booked separate motel rooms for the daytime. He had brought along a coffin for that very purpose, which, to Sookie, implied a degree of morbidity even on the way to a wedding.

Taking a seat in the makeshift chapel, she wondered what the role of "best man" entailed in this situation. There were maybe forty attendees here—it made some sense, Sookie thought. Bubba was not known as a social butterfly, and she assumed that most of these unknown people were members of Winifred's "social circle".

"Miss Stackhouse," Alcide Herveaux slid into the seat beside her, his tone facetiously formal. She laughed and reached out to hug him.

"How have you been?" Sookie asked warmly. She couldn't remember the last time she had seen him, and upon a second's reflection she realized that she might not want to remember.

"I'm alright," he said, studying her. "The pack has settled down a bit after..." he gestured vaguely.

Ahh. The last time she had seen him would have been—

"How are you?" he interrupted her train of thought. "Sorry about Eric. What could have possessed him to take up with Frigid Freyda..." He looked sympathetic, and disbelieving.

Sookie would have laughed at this sobriquet, but the overall conversation was sobering. "I didn't know you knew her," Sookie volunteered.

"Word gets around," he replied. He rubbed her shoulder amiably. She saw Pam heading towards them from across the room, noting that her heels were roughly the length of Sookie's hand. And of course her presence here meant—

"He's around here somewhere," Alcide said quietly—an afterthought and a warning. The well-dressed blonde sat next to Sookie, smiling at her faintly, but offering no real greeting.

"This is going to be weird as hell," she said to no one in particular. And as though on cue, the wedding procession began.

Bubba, Bill, and a preacher Sookie didn't recognize approached the dais first. Bill's eyes found her, and he winked in greeting. They took their places surrounding the altar. Bubba's face was shining with such childlike excitement that Sookie half expected him to start jumping up and down.

A solitary bridesmaid and groomsman walked slowly down the aisle. A Were and a vamp, Sookie thought. A flower girl and ring bearer, both of whom were surely relatives of the bride, came next. The girl flung petals with abandon, and the boy stared around, discomfited by his little tuxedo and the burden of the rings.

"Vampire Elvis, werecat bride," Sookie thought, and bit her tongue to keep from giggling.

Bill winked at her again, yards away. The maid of honor, most definitely a Were, took her spot opposite Bill.

And then the blushing bride, and an older woman, presumably her mother. Winifred was perhaps a few years older than Sookie, and her black hair was swept into a bun on the top of her head. Much like the ring bearer, she seemed uncomfortable with the occasion, and as she reached the altar she surreptitiously adjusted her dress. There was something strange in her dark eyes, and Sookie remembered the word Bill had used to describe her—"odd".

And then Sookie saw her face as her eyes met Bubba's. It was a look of such deep, wide-eyed affection that Sookie bit her lip. _Sentimental, weepy old me_, she thought, feeling a tear threaten. The preacher had begun speaking, but she was too preoccupied with the bride and groom to pay attention. Bubba was beaming again.

She chided herself for doing so, but she extended her telepathy to see what, if anything, Winifred's mind would show her. There was the typical blurry mess of a Were's mind, but beyond that, she could feel a strong, reddish-orange haze—it reminded her of warmth, of yearning, and more so of love.

A minute passed, and Bubba was speaking and nodding, and she could hear Winifred's mother blubbing. Then Winifred spoke, and Sookie berated herself for paying virtually no attention to the ceremony itself, because Bubba and the missus were headed back down the aisle, and the music and applause echoed throughout the room. Alcide had mysteriously vanished, and Pam winked Sookie a goodbye, then ran off—where?

Bill approached her, taking her arm and leading her out to the reception hall.

"Good evening, sweetheart," he said quietly into her ear, above the rumble of conversation. He placed a quick, chaste kiss high upon her cheek.

"Hello to you too," Sookie replied, patting her watery eyes daintily. She grasped at his arm, pulling him closer. He obliged, and she indulged herself by breathing in his scent. "How did it go?"

"It was... an experience," he said, choosing his words carefully. "The girl's family is a nervous bunch. Frenzied."

Sookie laughed, imagining Bill surrounded by agitated Were women, plus Bubba.

Minutes passed. Though Bill was quiet, barely speaking to the assorted guests seated at their table, Sookie atoned for his silence with what could be confused for giddy chatter. One by one, the guests became distracted by various means, and there was a lull in the conversation.

"You're bleeding," Bill whispered in her ear, after a moment. Of course, he could smell her. Sookie caught a flash of fang and quivered ever so slightly. His eyes were dark, and the hunger on his face was unmistakable.

"Shush," Sookie said, brushing him off. A familiar feeling stirred in her stomach, and she blushed. _Not helping_, she admonished herself. She looked up to see Eric, yards away—clearly looking for someone. Freyda had turned her back to them, and Sookie wondered as to the nature of the obligation that brought her here. Sookie stared down and worried her bottom lip—she wasn't in a mood to face Eric, not at a wedding, not with Bill.

As though to distract her, Bill's foot began to slowly stroke her calf under the table. She bit her lip harder.

"I think I'm going to get a breath of fresh air," she said as airily as she could manage.

"I'll come with you," Bill replied immediately.

"No. That's alright," she said. Bill's expression flickered, for a fraction of a second, before equilibrating. She wanted nothing more than to beat the hastiest retreat possible—away from Eric, away from Freyda, away from the great distraction Bill was becoming. She walked away unsteadily.

She stood on the deck, which was encased in white arches and tangled in paper lanterns. It was a pretty night, and the air was cool enough to relax her somewhat. She saw a Maine Coon scurry across the dimly lit yard, and she wondered for an instant whether it was Winifred. Another hysterical giggle threatened. A few couples trickled through the doors to join her on the deck, and Sookie decided to wander the yard for a moment. She left the deck, walking around an adjacent tree, and walked nose-first into a man's chest.

Of course he had known she was outside, Sookie thought, on edge again.

"Eric." She bit out his name, not looking at his face.

"How are you?" he asked, without preamble. She heard him inhaling deeply, almost grasping for her scent.

Sookie shrugged, willing herself to remain calm. "I'm the same as I've been," she responded evenly. She would not look at his face.

"Sookie, I miss you. God..." Eric trailed off as though at a loss, and Sookie found herself wondering once more to whom Eric prayed. "I miss you."

"I don't think I have anything to say, Eric."

"And I didn't think you would go back to him so soon," he said after a moment. There was a glint in his eye—jealousy, it registered dimly in Sookie's mind. He reached for her hand.

"No," Sookie came alive, the words ripping from her throat. She jerked her hand away wildly. "You do not get to touch me," she said, bordering on hysteria. He could have arrested her movement easily, could have grabbed her hands anyway, but he refrained and looked at her sorrowfully. Distrust was alien to Sookie's features.

And she felt Bill behind her, suddenly. Of course, he was already here, she thought, both relieved and vaguely dismayed. She couldn't go anywhere without some vamp tracking her movement. He was approaching the pair from behind, and his gaze was like ice. He did not move to touch Sookie, but his posture invited violence. His fangs glinted dully.

"Sookie?" It was not a question, and so she did not answer.

"Bill." Eric responded in her stead. His face was strangely expressive in the weak light—he appeared wounded, but the dominant expression was one of open contempt.

A smile—a familiar, unhappy smile—sprang unbidden to Sookie's face.

"I am going back to the party," she said through gritted teeth. Twenty-eight years of telepathy fought to restore her self-control. Her grin was huge and tight—it hurt the muscles of her face, cracked the corners of her lips.

"I think that Sookie would like you to leave her be," Bill began, stepping in front of her as though she had not spoken. His voice was cold and dark—it made her shiver. "And I would, too."

"You're one to talk," Eric scoffed. His stance had shifted, too, somewhat. He was a spring stretched to its capacity.

Fangs out, fangs everywhere, Sookie thought, and she shivered as she realized that they were well on the way to a physical fight. "Stop them," an exhausted voice whispered to her. And another voice told her that she had no obligation to be here—in the woods at one in the morning, near a fight between two hungry, angry, possessive vampires.

"Eric," she heard herself say. His eyes snapped to her, and he relaxed his stance immeasurably as his attention focused on her rather than his opponent. "You left me. That's it." she said flatly. She looked down at her strappy heels.

"Sookie-" It was his turn to whisper her name, sounding pained, and again she did not respond.

"Sookie is mine," Bill interjected helpfully, with the same inflection he had used years ago. She shivered again. The clench in her stomach was entirely unwelcome at this juncture.

Eric was facing him again, and they assessed each other grimly. She could practically hear the growling.

"You are acting like a pair of wild dogs with a bone," Sookie snapped, interrupting. Eric whirled to face her, looking as though she had slapped him. Bill had the decency to feign contrition, but his fangs did not retract. She turned her back to them, walking towards the paper lanterns and muffled music. They could fight like cats and dogs, but she didn't have to watch.

She reached the table of refreshments and ladled herself a glass of punch with more vigor than was necessary—something to cool her hot tongue. She simmered. The crowd of happy, dancing bodies—mostly Weres- paid her no attention. A donor wandered by, glancing at her conspicuously. This sure was a "very human wedding", Sookie thought sardonically.

"I'm sorry," she heard Bill say, to her left. He entered her peripheral vision.

Most of her frustration was, irritatingly enough, with Eric, she realized. He had left her, and yet he had sought her out, approached her tonight in the garden. What was the point of that now, other than to depress her? She sighed, and they watched the people. "That's all right," she conceded begrudgingly.

"Will you dance with me?" Bill asked after a moment. A new song was beginning—it was somewhat melancholy, limpid, but not without a note of contentment. It reminded her of a knot tied in thick rope, she decided. She nodded, and he took her hand and led her away.

"Nobody's perfect, nobody's perfect," the woman vocalized, "...but you're perfect for me." He pulled her hand again, turning her to face him. His arms encircled her, and she rested her hand on his arm. The posture brought them very close, and Sookie felt a blush rising in her cheeks for some reason. She was suddenly conscious of the prominence of her breasts.

Bubba appeared behind Bill's back, with Winifred in tow. Sookie pulled away to greet him, but he was entirely preoccupied. He had produced a microphone, and he shouted something to Bill over the dull roar of celebration.

"He says he's going to sing," Bill said. "A love song, I'm assuming?"

"And Winifred still doesn't realize..." Sookie said, trying not to snigger.

The crowd was quieting, whispering in anticipation of the musical stylings of Undead Elvis—a love ballad to his Were bride. The unwelcome image of his last performance, at Fangtasia, occurred to Sookie. His audience watched in rapt attention as he opened his mouth to sing.

"You ain't nothing but a hound dog, crying all the time-"

Sookie slapped her hand over her mouth to stop herself from laughing. To the amazement and confusion of most, Bubba had not chosen a romantic song by any stretch of the imagination—and yet his selection was even more fitting. She turned back to Bill and allowed herself, for a few moments, to bask in his familiar smile.


End file.
